


Chest Candy

by Aminias



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Airforce, Alternate Universe - Military, Army, BAMF Chris Argent, BAMF Stiles, Chris is Married to His Peter, Chris is not amused, Competence Kink, Crack Treated Seriously, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Humor, I'm dirty and you know it, Intense!Stiles, Love Letters, M/M, Military, Military Backstory, Military Stiles, Military Uniforms, Multi, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Praise Kink, Sassy Peter, Sexy times later maybe, Stiles is Legal, all the lingo, competent stiles, feel good, fight me, if you ask very nice, it kinda snuck in there, no infidelity, ok I admit some angst, popping my stetopher cherry, who am I kidding like I could stop these guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-10-28 02:39:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10822032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aminias/pseuds/Aminias
Summary: Peter traced his hands over the small sketch of a Daisy in the corner of the lined paper.“It appears I have made a new friend.”“Oh.” Chris hummed. Draping himself over Peter's back.  His lips brushed Peter's neck and he tilted his head agreeably inviting further exploration.When young 2/LT  Stilinski starts writing Chris after serving with him, both he and Peter have no idea how this will change their lives forever.





	1. Whisky Tango Foxtrot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Green](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Green/gifts).



> Happy Birthday dear you have long held my hand through the road less traveled.

**Chapter One: Whisky Tango Foxtrot,**

**Meaning: The Phonetic alphabet- WTF**

* * *

 

Peter twisted his hands and listened to the satisfying snap. He idly let the dry pasta fall from his hands into the boiling pot. Humming to himself he opened the drawer to his right for a spoon. when his fingers didn’t grasp the handle of a wooden spoon as expected he frowned and looked down.

There in the drawer rested the envelopes. He lingered over them for a moment and eventually set the three envelopes on the counter, then closed the drawer. _ Time enough for that later. _

Procuring a  spoon, Peter set to stirring the pasta. The banner of the American flag stamp taunted him as he strained the pasta in the sink.  He placed the pasta back in the pot and set to work on the sauce watching the red seep over the once pale noodles. Satisfied with his efforts he grabbed a bowl and dished out a serving. There was more than enough for two left.  He looked at the other bar stool and sighed. Chris wouldn't be making it in tonight.

 Good thing he was hungry as a wolf. Peter's lips twitched upwards. His gaze once more fell to the odd handwriting and the Eeyore sticker that sealed one of the envelopes shut.

The first one had come in the mail a few days ago a subtle blue at odds with the Tigger sticker. 

Not all that uncommon for Chris to receive letters from kids or otherwise. Then the next one arrived lemon yellow with a proud Pooh Bear Sticker. Finally, today the third stamped with red that marked it as expedited appear official in all ways but the back with proudly boasted an Eeyore sticker holding it closed.

Low level anticipation churning in his gut he checked the time and grabbed his phone. 

He hit the call button on his phone drumming his hands on the counter while he waited. A stool didn’t make for a good swiveling desk chair and he had no Parisian cat but it’d have to do.

“Peter?” The familiar voice of his husband answered. 

“Hi love how's it going.”

“About as well as to be expected.” Chris rumbled. When Peter had last seen him, he’d been off at a VA group meeting out of town. Just like Chris to come running when a old friend needed help. His husband was currently trying to settle some tensions with the board and it wasn’t going well. The meeting had turned out to be more of a formal dinner due to the friends family. Chris was not happy but damn if Peter didn’t appreciate him in a suit.

Just how much had he appreciated it? Peter shifted in his seat the residual ache sparking within him. 

“I’ve got some letters for you.” He said and  began lazily sifting through the envelopes.

“That’s nice.” His husband replied.  There was the sound of a gun disassembling in the background. Chris had either just gotten back into the hotel or was getting ready to head back out. When you concealed carried, one had to think about the lint that could collect.

“This one looks pretty official.” Peter stared at the Eeyore. The donkey stared back.

“Can you photo and send them over?”

“Sure.”

“Thanks, Diva.” Warmth worked its way up his spine and he set the phone down tapping a button. “Putting you on speaker.” Sometimes he’d read them out loud instead. It was fun to find mistakes in official documents.

“Ok.” He could almost see Chris nodding. Peter set the Eeyore down with a suspicious glare best to start at the beginning. Tigger envelope it was.

“Before I start, Chris, just  who the hell is Stilinski?”

It was telling that his husband took a moment to answer. “Ah, him, right.” Muffled laughter echoed over the line and Peter hid his own smile. 

“If you have anything you’d like to tell me now would be the time to do it.”

His husbands chuckled, "Just what did he send you?” 

“Send me? These are all addressed to you, Christopher.”

“Where are you going with this?”

“I just thought I should let you know.” Peter mused. “I'll be writing him back anyway.”

“If I can’t stop you.” Chris sighed but it was one of his ok-you-have-fun-with-that variety. His nephew and now his husband, nearly non-verbal.  Boys.

“Communications important in a relationship.” Peter grinned opening the first envelope.

**Hi, Eagle, it’s been a while things are crazy back at the base I swear. (Shh that’d be bad and my me-maw would smite me.)**

**Everyone’s running around, scurrying like startled mice except without the church part!**

**It’s not so quiet here. Sometimes I think God's long stopped watching.**

**I think whatever goes on in the hell of a desert is the best show he’s had since Hannibal of Carthaginian rode some elephants, 38 into a pass.**

**In the Alps.**

**Not that he rode them all by himself. Big smiles, this isn’t as bad as Russia in the winter though you get the idea.**

**The stars are unfairly beautiful, I can almost see home if I  look hard enough.**

**Every night I remember what you said. The moment even the night holds its breath the sand hardly dares to stir  and the birds have just dropped down past the ridge. I keep my gaze fixed  on the North star and watch each light glowing like the heart of a flare set off in the darkness.**

**Still counting constellations, 2/LT Stilinski**

“Whoever he is sounds rather enamored with you.” Peter muttered a teasing lit to his voice. Chris stayed silent processing this.

He eventually cleared his throat to speak. “We served together for a time.”

Peter hummed formulating his reply. “Why I remember taking you on several dates under the open sky husband mine.”

“With ulterior motives.” Grumbled the man in question.

He moved on to the second envelope opening it with a clean tear that separated Pooh Bears head from his body.

**Hi, Eagle, Do you think we’ll get an Anti-tank rifle?**

**If there’s enough probable cause I think an argument can be made for the effectiveness not that storming buildings isn’t true grit and all that.**

**I’ve always wanted to shoot one of those. Not sure they'd let me put my hands on it, but love will find a way.**

**Have you ever had the chance? You didn’t mention it if you did you scoundrel you.**

**Man, it’d be sweet.**

**The Springfield that one time had a hell of a kick but that could be because I’m skinny and had to cling to the thing like a limpet when it fired. Shoulder ached for days!**

**This guy let's call him Gull cause he keeps screeching things like “No Stilinski” and “Not like that Stilinski” and “ Adjust your grip Stilinski!"**

**He clings to my last name like a lifeline. The only reason he’s peeved about my fingers on the trigger is he wants them on his dick.**

**(Jesus, Eagle where is your competency when I need it?) Maybe he’ll drown in this sand of an ocean.**

**Fingers crossed for your favorite gun, 2/LT Stilinski**

He scanned the next letter eyes narrowed in contemplation.

“Of course I’m all about efficacy just like someone else it seems.” Peter uttered.

Chris’s smirk could be heard over the line. “With the way you beg.” He trailed off.

“I know what I want.” Peter purred. So did this Stilinski person too apparently. He seemed rather cute and well enough read. Something would have to be done about that.

 

**Hi Eagle, these are probably all going to reach you at the same time but hey who says three is unlucky? Not me! Need all those corners of a triangle to make a star.**

**Speaking of sharp edges and Satan how is your beau? Did the coaxing go well? Were the flowers I mentioned used!?!**

**It’s the Hyacinth BLUE not yellow. Avoid the yellow. Holly, oh and some ferns would be good. You must tell me all girlfriend. Alright too far.**

**But anyway just say no to the orange lilies (hate) unless you into that kinda thing? Dunno.**

**With warm regards, nah that’s way too fancy, 2/LT Stilinski**

Oh, he liked this kid. Peter grinned musing to himself. Several ideas took place and were discarded.

“What ?” Chris asked.

“He’s somewhat charming is all.”

“Peter we served together. That’s it no need for the fifth degree. He’s a good kid.”

“Would have to be to put up with you.” He  thoughtfully twirled some more noodles around the fork. 

“You married me, Peter, what does that have to say about you?” Chris countered. Peter could hear the tell tale metal slide of a gun coming back together on the other end of the phone. 

“That I have excellent taste or am just as insane as my family thinks me to be.”

"Mhm, excellent taste is right." Chris assented. 

"Just what did good ole dad have to say about our nuptials?" Peter wondered. 

"Temporary insanity about the same as how he felt with me signing."

"Ah. To have witnessed that aneurysm."

"My gun didn't leave much room for disagreement."

"Love it when you talk dirty to me."

"Uhuh." Chris huffed out a laugh. "Corpse disposal, crime scene tape, black trash bag."

"You do like to tease." Peter mused.

"Little foreplay before the main show Pup- I know how much it works you up." Chris stated.  Peter rolled his eyes though he couldn’t deny the fond smile tugging his lips.

"Will there be flowers too?" He asked.

"Maybe." Chris accented.

"You romantic you, remember it's the Hyacinth in blue not yellow if I ever need coaxing."

"Peter." His husband sighed, the world weary kind. 

"Chris." Peter  parroted. 

"He's just trying to be helpful."

"Oh I know he's been very helpful thus far even addressed me by my proper title.

Least someone knows the throne of Hell is  for me."

"I'll support your rule." Chris offered.

"Yes, yes that's nice dear." Peter waved his hand.

"You're not going to let this go are you?"

"No, no I don't think I am." Peter mused.

"He called me Satan."

Chris took in a steady breath.

"That much flattery deserves my attention." Peter continued.

His husband started to say something, Peter hung up the phone listening to the satisfying click with a smile.

_ Hello Lieutenant Stilinski, it has come to my attention we share a mutual interest,  _

There that didn't sound confrontational at all.

_ The Language of Flowers is diverse and plentiful.  _

This was going well already. 

Peter gleefully continued penning his reply _.  _

_ I think the use of Orange lilies is a fantastic idea to rekindle the passion of our relationship. _

_ Not to say it’s waned over the years. I like to think we have only gotten more creative with time. Age is just a number and the older a vintage the better the taste. I’m sure you understand. _

_ Therefore your advice is much appreciated and rest assured it did reach the intended sender. _

The floral arrangement he was likely receiving as a result of this would be lovely. His husband knew better than to use certain plants his nose was sensitive about but beyond that. 

Well, he could use a reminder. Peter still gushed about the bouquet Chris had first given him.  

Such rage! Such commitment! He was so cute then. Ah, their younger years filled with such drive to kill the other or fuck while trying. Good memories.

_ I must admit I’d love to hear more about the gall of the man working with you! Of course, no one is as efficient as my Chris. _

_ Truly, I am a lucky Devil.   _

_ Enjoying the Seventh Ring, Satan _


	2. Moon Dust

  **Chapter Two: Moon Dust**

**Meaning: Used to refer to the dust that covers southern Afghanistan**

* * *

 

It was a month before another letter arrived. By then Chris had made it up to him thoroughly in several rooms of the house. He’d nearly put the whole matter out of his mind entirely when Chris entered the house and waved an envelope in front of his face.

“Another one.” Chris shook his head smiling. Peter closed his research book and pulled him in for a quick kiss. He sighed when their lips parted. This never got old.

He drew his husband closer enjoying the slight burn of his recent scruff.

Not having to shave so much agreed with him.

“For you this time.” Chris put the envelope down and tugged him in for another kiss. After all these years he still got lost in the press of their lips and the way they fit together.

Chris placed a last chaste on the top of Peter's head and pulled away.

His husband went to grab two glasses for a night cap. Peter waved him off and Chris settled for one for himself and went to the liquor cabinet. There on the back of the letter, an Eeyore sticker glared at him.

 

**To His Liege Satan. My Lord, I am both honored and baffled by your reply. This humble servant asks that you please forgive his absent-minded nature.**

 

Peter snorted and Chris raised an eyebrow from over his glass of scotch.

 

**In other news, I’m running out of stickers from the batch the kids sent but I considered you worthy enough for their use.**

**I do humbly request that you please call me Stiles, Stilinski’s my dad or what I’ve gotten used to hearing shouted all day. Seriously what’s with trying to wear it out?**

**Do you know he whistled at me the other day? Freaking whistled don’t know where he got it but this guy now has coaches whistle. Almost makes me miss Chris.**

 

Peter vacillated between the twinge of jealousy that uncurled in his chest and the wry amusement. Good humor won out.

 

**Ok, I totally miss Chris while the conversation can leave something to be desired he handles a gun like nobody's business.**

**The F-15 never ran so smooth. He has the sense of humor of medium salsa on those crunchy nacho chips in a Mexican restaurant.**

**It just kinda sits on slow burn all subtle and catches up to you yah know? Maybe dry rub hot wings are a better comparison. Yum.**

 

Chuckling Peter laid the letter on the Kitchen counter. The sense of humor Chris had was one of Peter’s favorite things about his husband. While people expected cleverness from Peter his husband often got away with the most underhanded comments. He found himself tempted to put this one letter on the fridge. In fact he resolved to do just that if only because the expression on Chris’s face when he went to grab the ice cream from the freezer would be worth it.

**Well anyway, glad you liked the flowers I left you one of my own.  Otherwise, those are some unfair implications.**

**I’m only a poor 2/Lt have some mercy my liege.**

**Ever your loyal subject, Stiles**

**P.s. Tell Eagle hi for me!!!**

Peter traced his hands over the small sketch of a Daisy in the corner of the lined paper.

“It appears I have made a new friend.”

“Oh.” Chris hummed. Draping himself over Peter's back.  His lips brushed Peter's neck and he tilted his head agreeably inviting further exploration.

When he awoke the sheets had long grown cool and Peter swung himself out of bed stretching with a yawn. The first order of business to hunt down some food and paper. Chris would be back from the range later and Peter was happy to entertain thoughts of what they could do for dessert. His husband had left him with a kiss on the cheek an hour earlier and the whispered promise of more. Till then he had a letter to write.

_My most humble and loyal subject, I hope this finds you well and in good company. It’s so hard to find decent folk these days._

_As for the stickers you shouldn’t have, really. Though if I had to identify with one of those characters it’d be the donkey. Because my sense of humor is unmatched and I have a great ass._

_Whistling? How crass! You're sure it wasn’t catcalling? Getting feisty now are we Kitten?_

_Your delightful liege lord, Satan_

_p.s. Eagle says Hi and that he deeply  regrets us ever meeting and sends his apologies for damages attained by association with me._

Short but sweet and sure to inspire a most delightful reaction. Peter wasn’t above finding his own entertainment for the evening. Chris couldn’t expect him to be a house husband all the time. A cool breeze blew in shifting the window drapes. Street lamps were just blinking into existence after a long days slumber.  The birds hushed all but an owl that hooted from the trees. Overhead the first bats of the night ventured out. The night was falling and the woods were calling.

This time he only had to wait half a month. Not that Peter was counting or had been slinking out to the mailbox to check periodically. He only had so much patience. The letter arrived as the last few had with nearly no warning and brightly packaged a lone Eeyore forlornly watching him. The outside also had a little pitchfork sketched on it.  

**To my MOST esteemed liege lord Satan who is most gracious and indeed as wise as this subject has been told.**

**Don’t diss the stickers.**

**The stickers rule.**

**I cannot confirm or deny the ass. Your handwriting is so dainty did your fellow Princess teach you that your highness? The whistling has, in fact, ceased to some degree.**

**Please, none of these guys want to own up to staring at my skinny freckled butt and I’m not about to drop the soap.**

**I’ll have you know I’m having a pawful time otherwise.**

**This is worse than having cloth**

**less fun on the beach. Not that I engaged in clothe-less fun, anyway just sand everywhere. Awful for everyone.**

 

Peter had to pause for a moment an reminisce over a fantastic vacation he’d taken with Chris. Just the two of them and California beach house. They had in fact gotten sand everywhere.

 

**This stuff is rather powdery and rather fine the dunes are a lot less crowded than the beaches at Cali.**

 

So he was a native or at least there was a high probability he came from the same state. That explained what he and Chris might have bonded over a lot better.

 

**Your humble and unworthy servant Stiles, the wildcat of the middle east.**

**p.s. Are we Friends?**

**p.s.s. I’m going to take it this means were friends.**

Peter squinted a finely drawn pentagram made itself apparent in the background. Wildcat was he now? He strode to his desk and searched through the drawers. They had to have some of what he was looking for  left over from when Cora had stayed here. Smirking to himself when he found what he had sought Peter settled in his chair to craft a reply.

The first thing he made sure to include on the paper was a gold star.

 


	3. Kinetic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I write the pornz and Stiles gets in a Scrap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Slasher_Fiend for holding my hand :)
> 
> Hope you guys like this one please let me know how I did!

**Chapter Three: Kinetic**

**Meaning: used as a euphemism for military action**

* * *

 

Chris closed the door to the gun safe and sighed. Within the case rested the last of the papers he had left to sign. He hadn’t told Peter yet, but it’d be soon enough for Christmas time.

That was his hope anyway. You never could tell with these things.

Retirement. The big R.

 

He sighed and locked the door to the case. Pausing by the desk he grabbed an envelope and a pen. Passing the kitchen counter he filled out the address the rest of the way and left it for the morning. Stiles would be so excited when he received the letter. Chris couldn’t imagine what it would have been like if he didn’t have Peter to look forward to each time he shipped out.

 

It’d be dawn soon but he’d long stopped trying to sleep. He lingered for a moment in the doorway of the bedroom. Then made as if to lie back down. Chris was amused to find Peter had shifted in his sleep and stolen the warmth of his spot.

The man's eyes fluttered.

“Chris?’

“I’m here pup.” He promised. Unable to stop himself from closing the gap. It was a few inches of sheets that separated them now not an entire ocean.

Immediately the man turned into his arms.

“Called me a Princess.” Peter muttered into the security of Chris’s chest.”

“Who did?”

“Stiles.”

“Because you are.”

He nuzzled the top of his husband’s head. He had missed this. Missed Peter. He ran his calloused hands over Peter’s sides and mapping the planes of his body. Carefully he cataloged every twitch and sigh.

“My fussy Diva.”

“Cruise Director.” Peter nipped him and Chris’s frame shook with laughter.

“Your Majesty would have me no other way.” Chris began retracing his steps till his hand worked the muscle around Peter's neck. The man went lax in his arms trusting him to take his weight.

“Ridiculous.”

“I’m not the one with a goatee.”

“Mhmm.” Peter’s eyelids cracked open and he angled his face up for a kiss. Chris eagerly obliged him and soon they were taut against each other. Kissing quickly turned into rutting lazily against each other. Peter’s half lidded eyes regarded him, a pleased smirk resting on his lips.

It felt like being in his old truck all over again.  Both desperately working their clothes off. This time his boxers hit the bedroom floor along with his tactical pants to be washed later.

He wasn’t as cocksure as he’d been then, bravado cloaking what he’d only read or seen in clubs while on the hunt.

Young Peter had worn that same infuriating smirk right till Chris had wiped it off his smug face. A trend that they followed time and time again.

Peter still got that same frenzied look in his eye when Chris pushed him till his whole body shook.  

Before things could get much farther he finagled the lube from the bedside drawer.

He coated his fingers with a liberal amount of lube and slipped the first finger inside.

“This brings back memories.” Peter panted failing to keep his voice at a steady drawl. The rub of their bodies together working him up along with knowledge of what was to come.

“What are you going to do next tell me to keep it down?”

“And if I do?” He worked the second finger in.  He gave Peter’s dick a tug, unable to keep his hands off the aching red head.

Peter moaned. “Mhm that's good.” Chris distracted him by  sucking a mark on his flesh.

“You haven't answered my question pup. I should gag you right now.”

“We wouldn’t want Daddy Argent to hear would we Christopher?”

“The only Daddy here is me.” Chris rocked the rest of Peter’s length into him enjoying the feeling of  Peter's dick sliding home within him.

“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” Chris rumbled shifting his weight. “All pretty for me in your gag, my Diva putting on a show.”

Peter’s hips twitched and Chris laid a steadying hand on his abs.  Their eyes met; his husband's body quivered. Chris met his gaze and clenched the muscles of  his ass.  

With a choked noise Peter dropped his head back down, accepting his fate.

“There’s a good boy, you just let me take care of you now.”

Chris worked him over, alternating his movements between agonizingly slow grind down or  tightening his walls around Peter's cock.  This was about making sure Peter understood just how much he meant to him.

“There you go.” He murmured. Feeling the press and give of his flesh welcoming Peter. He rode the balance of give and take, aiming for Peter’s pleasure, and through it attaining his own.  Every inch of them was flushed and sweating; the slick slide dirty and thrilling.

“That’s it.”

Peter made a low noise that Chris registered as a whine. “Close.” He admitted the words ripped out of him by the building pressure of his orgasm. The ragged rise and fall of his chest was a telling sign he was near completion.

“I’ve got you.” He panted as the angle brushed that bundle of nerves inside him just right. Chris rode him through every shudder till he could do nothing but tremble. His eyes wet and his body wanting; hands twisting pitifully into the sheets.

“Looks like I’m not going to need that gag after all since you’re such a good boy.” Chris tugged on one of Peter's nipples, playing with the bud till he hissed. He ran a hand over his neglected cock, the way smoothed by precum, with a low groan.  

“Go on and come for me pup.”

Peter gasped, emptying himself into Chris, mouth dropping open as he shuddered beneath him. He jerked himself harshly racing to the finish. His heart galloped, then Peter in a show of flexibility heaved himself up to give him a kiss. It was messy, a fierce meeting of mouths rather than a tender parting of lips. Peter’s hands replaced his own and Chris sank the weight of his want into this kiss coating both their chests with his release.

“You got me sticky.” Peter huffed as if someone had spilled juice on his prom dress.

“Such.” Chris pressed a light kiss to his lips.

“A.” This time a claiming bite at the base of his husband’s neck.

“Diva.” They tumbled back down together.

* * *

 

 

**Southern Afghanistan, October, Base and Date unknown**

> * * *

“That another letter from your girl?”

“Not my girl. "Stiles reminded the soldier beside him.

“Aww come on Stilinski you got dumped?” The crew cut blonde taunted, crowding him.  “Come on let’s see it. Bet you’re going to cry.”

“No Whittemore not everyone gets a Dear john as often as you.”

Jackson’s face lighted with rage and he grabbed his vest, yanking Stiles till they were pressed chest to chest. He glared defiantly back unwilling to yield. “What the truth hurts Jax?” The air around them felt charged as a Kinetic zone violence lingering under the surface.

“You shut your mouth.”  Jackson was about as threatening as a toothless lizard. The guy’s gear practically had his name embroidered on it and looked newer each week.

Stiles bared his teeth. “Then don’t touch my shit Fobbit.” He twisted out of Whittemore’s grip and sent him tripping in the other direction.

It didn’t matter the letter was already torn in the brief scuffle. Jackson turned as if to come back for a second bout then a sharp whistle pierced the air.

Stiles flinched. Finstock stepped in before it could go any further.

He was left listening to the roar of the wind and watching the drift of the sand sun baking his back.

The crumpled letter clutched tight in his hand.  

That night he meticulously smoothed it out. Fingers tracing over every wrinkle, following the arch to each word. Every now and then the distant sound of Birds coming in for landing echoed.  He slept on his left side, paper pressed to his chest, pointer finger resting on the gold star.

 


	4. Dead Reckoning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris and Peter have a talk but nobody is pregnant they just decide they want the Stiles booty. . . this is not a spoiler everyone wants the Stiles booty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I'm shocked and just wow about the response to this fic thank you guys so much for reading and showering the boys with love. 
> 
> This chapter is very much rough sorry for the only kinda proofread nature and lack of commas please forgive the weird lines and some of the formatting not sure how to fix it
> 
> 2/27/2018 Note gods one of these days I will give this fic the re-write and like extra 20,000 words it oh so very badly needs and deserves.

###  **Chapter Four: Dead Reckoning,**

###  **Meaning: the process of calculating one's current position by using a previously determined position, Essentially flying blind**

* * *

 

**To my most exalted widely esteemed infallible liege lord Satan, this subject appreciates the endless patience shown by his majesty to such an insignificant maggot.**

**Gull has been running me ragged. The other day he threatened to string me up by my bootlaces till my face turned as blue as I was acting. That was before your letter came through.**

**Now, I think both he and Jackass want to strangle me if I hum another show tune. Hope you're ready for that I can be kinda twitchy. I know all the Christmas carols to don’t get me started about how joker got away.**

**Not the hero this base wants, but the hero this base needs, Stiles**

**P.s. Cause were friends I think I should admit to not knowing your name**

**P.s.s. If you wanted to tell me that would be great**

**P.s.s. If you don’t want to tell me I can still roll with that too**

“What are you smiling about now?”

“Stiles wrote me back.” Peter stated pointing out the obvious. Chris had clearly wanted a more direct answer but good things come to those who wait.

“Mhm.” His husband grinned unconvinced.

“What?”

“Peter that's your planning face.”

“Every face is my planning face.”

Chris shifted his body closer to Peter on the couch and looked down at the letter.

“You never told him my name?”

“Old habits die hard they only recently changed the law.” Chris cleared his throat. Peter waited. He knew he had a reason that didn’t make it ok. The pragmatist in him understood. The boy who'd tenaciously dogged the gruff young man no matter how much he rebuffed him so long ago wanted to howl their love to the world. Chris wasn't the only one who'd given up things in this marriage.

“It was safer for everyone.” He grasped Peter's hand meeting his eyes.

“I didn’t deny nor will I ever deny that you are my husband.”

How was he supposed to respond to that other than to try climbing into Chris’s lap and kissing him all over?

“Are you pleased with yourself.” His husband grinned from where Peter had him pinned on the couch.

“Terribly.” He chuckled. “You know what they say, save a horse ride a cowboy.”

“I’m no cowboy.”

“Could have fooled me, good ole boy charm, Henry rifle don’t tell me that's just because you like the action.”

“I don’t like the action I love it.”

“Then explain the Ruger  mini AR-14 ranch rifle edition.” Peter enunciated.

“Same as the first.”

“Chris we already own an AR-15.”

“And you think I look attractive while shooting it I’m aware.”

Peter nuzzled his cheek tugging on Chris’s ear. “You always look attractive while shooting it.”

“Is that a come on?”

“It might be.”

“You Mr. Hale-Argent are trouble.”

“More trouble than I’m worth.” Peter agreed.

“Never,” Chris vowed brushing their lips together and pressing his hips into the roll of Peters.

“ I like the trouble, keeps me young.”

They didn’t leave the couch till much later in the evening. It wasn’t until  after a satisfyingly long hot shower that Peter broached the topic that was on both their minds. Stiles.

“Chris.”

“Yes pup.”

Peter rolled his eyes.

“I think we should invite Stiles to join us.”

It was a mark to his husbands intelligence that he merely finished chewing his piece of steak then sat back with a sigh to answer.

“In what way?”

“I knew there was a reason I married you.”

“I thought it was my good ole boy charm and the way I used a knife”

“That doesn’t hurt dear.” Peter counseled him.

Chris took a sip of his drink. “I know how you look when you get his letters and how you look at me.”

“Chris I - “

“Peter, let me finish.” Chris’s voice was steady and his face sported the same contemplative expression he got when staring down the barrel of a rifle at the range or after tying Peter up in several feet of rope. He took a deep breath let himself relax.

All of his fanciful arguments evaporated as he waited. There was only Chris at the table across from him silent and steady.

“I don’t think the way you look is a bad thing.” He grimaced.

Peter snorted.

“Yeah laugh it up but you know what I mean.”

“Do I?” He pressed.

Chris sighed in exasperation a fond smile tugging his lips.

“It’s ok that you like the Lieutenant as well Peter.” He knew there was more to it then that but how like Chris to imply a polyamorous relationship was a simple and succiet thing. Then again maybe it was.

“Were not even sure he likes us back.” He found himself protesting for arguments sake.

“He at least likes you.” Chris confirmed ignoring Peters claim.

“I am very likable.”

“Yes your the prettiest belle at the ball.”

“Of course I’m not the one who offered to write the near jailbait officer in the first place am I Christopher?” He leered.

“Don’t Christopher me Diva he’s old enough to drink.” Old enough to vote, old enough to die overseas his partner didn’t finish but the way he gripped his glass conveyed his thoughts.

“There's nothing for it then we’ll just have to write him.”

“Peter did you make any plans for Christmas?” He blinked at the apparent non sequitur.

“Avoiding my family and being very naughty with you, why?” He replied having a feeling about where this was going.

“I may have already invited our young friend.”

“Oh.” Peter's mind ground to a halt and he stood as if in a daze.

“What a truly marvelously wicked idea.” He breathed arousal winding through him. Chris had just pulled one over even him.

“Well done.” Peter purred.  “You must have taken lessons from a certain dashing man.”

“I had an excellent teacher, I don’t know about dashing but the bit where he out clevers himself is cute.” Chris smirked.

“Cute.” Peter laughed teeth flashing in delight. “I’ll show you cute.”

“I could use some private tutoring.” Chris stood collecting their plates and setting them aside.

“Oh why is that?” Peter asked as they walked down the hallway to the bedroom.

“I’ve never known you to be so concerned with . . . education.”

“I  might want to go over what I learned. Make sure I fully understood the lesson”

* * *

 

_ Hey there gun, how's my little 2/LT doing?  _

_ I’ve got to wonder if your not from Georgia since you seem to have the Devil charmed. Keeping hanging in there Soldier I can already tell you’ve got him dancing to your tune.  _

_ What’s your leave time looking like? There seems to be some extra space in the house and Christmas is coming up.  _

_ It may not be an Anti-tank rifle but the M4 with a Hornets Nest adapter would be happy to keep you company. _

_ Eagle, _

_ P.s. His name is Peter. _

“Blinkski’ I don’t have time for your moon eyes get moving before I belt a jet engine to you.”

“Yes, sir.” Stiles hastily folded the letter and slipped it into one of his pockets.

“An wipe that ridiculous expression off your face.”

He’d figure out what to say to Chris and Peter later.  For now he had some work to do and leave to plan for. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think did Chris and Peter make you feel as much as they did me? Is Stiles just the cutest? Do you like having Stiles scenes at the end?


	5. Hat Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You know when I said there would only be 5?  
> Yeah, I didn't say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you mean this isn't the pizza you ordered?  
> Well, what if I just remove the anchovies? 
> 
> I was too busy watching Kingsman again and celebrating my birthday (p.s. thanks, Twist!) + Plotting the next few chapter (s) 
> 
> Without further ado here is the new chapter. Please let me know if you see mistakes as lone rangering this one not feeling too well will probably be more than a few please forgive - Archive kept trying to duplicate sentence's not sure I caught them all

###  **Chapter Five: Hat Up,**

###  **Meaning: To change one's location. Refers to the need to wear a hat for the intended destination.**

* * *

 

November was swiftly coming to a close, he hadn’t heard from stiles recently beyond one letter confirming that he’d try to get leave in December. If he managed Christmas then great if not they’d still hold some kind of celebration. Peter stepped into the doorway of the house pausing when he reached the living room.

“Have a good run?” Chris waited in the armchair.

Peter pulled out his kerchief and wiped a smudge of red from his lips and sweat from his brow.

He set the Gym bag down and kicked it aside.  Chris' eyes flicked to his jaw.

“Small scuffle.” Peter clarified before he could work himself up.

“Sorry I missed the show.”

He grinned sharp and wide planting his hand on either side of the armchair caging Chris in.

Chris’s mouth went dry and he cleared his throat. “My what big teeth you have Pup.”

Peter obligingly leered displaying his sharp canines further he traced his tongue over Chris’s collar bone following the arch of his neck and gently clamped his teeth around his husband's throat.  Chris brought his hands up and instead of pushing him away tugged on the remains of his shirt pulling him into his lap. Peter sucked a deep hickey into his skin before he relinquished his hold. He curled up as much as he could manage to nose under Chris’s jaw with a pleased hum.

The phone rang interrupting the languid atmosphere. Peter groaned in annoyance and shifted so Chris could take the call.

His husband rose from the chair speaking softly mouth set in a hard line. He rushed out of the living room and down to the hall. Peter heard the creak of the bedroom door and in a few minutes, Chris reappeared with a packed bag.

“Thank you.” He muttered into the phone receiver. “Yes, I’ll be there.”

He slid the phone into his pockets and started shoving his feet into his boots tension written on the set of his shoulder.

“Peter. . .”  Chris clenched his fist around his laces till his knuckles turned white.

“Peter.” He said again clinging to his name.

“I’m here Chris.”

“It’s Stiles, he’s been hurt.”

“I’m coming with you.”

Chris leaned into his arms closing his mouth protests falling away into the night air.

* * *

 

Stiles blinked awake to the soft murmur of voices. The air was cool almost chilled the last thing he remembered was the metal and the heat in the sand. Where was he? The smell of sterile cleaner inundated his nose. He could feel a soft blanket beneath his fingers. He squinted his eyes against the harsh white light. A hospital?  Why?

“You're very lucky. . “ the mild face doctor examined his sheet. “ Mr. Stilinski.”  He finally settled on. 

Was that Jackson in one of the waiting chairs? This just kept getting stranger. A black sea lapped on the edges of his sight and he tried to focus on the opaque water.

“If not for you Mr. Whittemore would be pushing daisies.” The doctor continued.

“Stiles” Jackson began. Ugh, the jerks voice was less obnoxious than he remembered maybe even concerned what kind of alternate universe was this? God his head hurt. The dark ocean crested into a wave.

He sighed and sank back down into the lulling cool of the covers letting the blackness wash over him.

The next time he woke up Jackson had been replaced by an older man with the beginnings of stubble who was reading what appeared to be an aeronautics book of some kind. Eagle. Stiles tried to smile and grimace at the pain.

Otherwise, the room was only occupied by a nurse who quickly rang for the doctor.“Jackson?” 

He croaked the events of the accident sinking back in. He sounded like he’d been deepthroating a sandpaper dildo. Judging by Eagles expression it showed on his face. Stiles sputtered around the water that was held to his lips but the relief of the liquid sliding down his throat made up for it. Even bedridden having one t of those capable hands wrapped around a water cup and the other firmly at the juncture between his neck and back still threatened to light his cheeks with red. He’s married, down boy. Stiles chanted to himself.Then he walked in. Walk was too simple a word the man glided in. His nose was slightly scrunched against the chemical smell probably the black v-neck he sported dipped dangerously down.

The heart monitor beeped.

“You must be Stiles.” The man husked. His world tilted and realigned itself. Chris' hand was still a warm reassurance at his back and he shamelessly let the man take his weight. Everything hurt.

“Satan I presume.”

“The one and only.” Chris’s husband agreed with a smirk curling it’s way over his lips.

If that's how dangerous he looked like smirking then just how many kinds of illegal would his smile be? Stiles already knew Eagles was enough to make his knees weak. He wasn’t sure he’d survive the combo.

The man leaned in as if to shake his hand, and leaned in some more. Stiles drew in a breath. Somehow his arm looked small, narrow almost delicate grasped in the older man's hands.

Peter gently brushed his lips over the inside of his wrist as if he were a courtier greeting a swooning damsel. Stiles was not ashamed to admit he was the damsel. He could see the crinkle at the corner of the man's eye that betrayed his humor and the spark in his pupils that proved this was the same caustic individual he’d been corresponding with.

“Jacksons fine Stiles,” Chris spoke drawing his attention.

“If not for you it could be a different story.

“Thank you, sir.” He addressed Eagle feeling somewhat bereft.

“None of that now Lieutenant you just rest.”

“Yes, sir.” He defaulted ignoring the way his blood sang as the man traced circles into the skin of his back kneading the sore muscles. His husband was right there!

The two of them exchanged a look and speak of the devil, Peter placed a hand of his own on Chris’s shoulder swooping in to steal a kiss from the man himself. It started chaste then edged into something slightly more filthy the low moan Peter released to answer Chris rumble made his stomach flip and the heart monitor zig-zag. They seemed too engrossed in each other to notice the erratic nature of the machine. Stiles dropped his eyes cursing his tells and squirming awkwardly unabashedly stealing glances. If the wink Peter threw  him when he pulled away was anything to go by the man was well aware.

“The Doctor says in another day or two you’ll be ok to be moved.”

Where was he going with this?

“What do you say, Stiles.”  He bit back a whimper Chris’s fingers were magic and the way Peter said his name had to be banned in a few states.

“How do you feel about coming home with us?”


	6. Bang-Bang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which some eggs are broken to make . . .some cookies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fluff the fandom needs and maybe not the fluff instead of pornz the readers wanted
> 
> Thanks to Eon for looking this one over in their capable hands!
> 
> <3  
> I'm not entirely happy with the last scene but meh, shameless promotion of another steter fic lets see if you spot it!
> 
> oh and before I forget
> 
> "Christ gently set him down."

###  **Chapter Six : Bang-bang**

###  **Meaning An Army term describing a pistol or rifle.**

* * *

 

“Good morning” Chris smiled handing him a cup of coffee.

Stiles gratefully wrapped his hands around the mug. He sighed happily, breathing in the smell of dark roast.

“Mhmm. Strong and slick slidin down the throat, just like motor oil.”  _ And how I like my men. _

Chris laid some bacon in a pan and set to adjusting the temperature on the stove.

“Can you get the eggs for me?”

“Sure, surprised Peter isn’t up yet.” Stiles took another sip of coffee, meandering to the fridge.

“Princess likes to sleep in.” Chris admitted.

He nearly inhaled the coffee up his nose. A good portion drenched his shirt.

“Are you okay?”

“Wrong pipe,” Stiles coughed. “Burned my tongue, too hot.”

“Have to be careful with these kinds of things,” Chris tutted reaching for a wash rag.

Luckily, Stiles hadn’t dropped the mug.

Chris carefully took the glass from him and wiped a stray drop of coffee from the corner of Stiles’s mouth. He was all too aware of the limited space between them, that if Chris moved just a bit closer their chests would meet. If he so much as exhaled, the moment might be lost in time.

“Hello, boys,” Peter greeted.  Stiles remembered how to breathe.

“Morning.” Chris turned to greet his husband.

“I’ll, um, just go get cleaned up.” If he hadn’t been wounded, leaving to get his bag would have looked like more of a retreat and less of a hurried shuffle.

* * *

 

“Run, rabbit, run,” Peter muttered after Stiles fled.

Chris rolled his eyes and turned the bacon.

“Has he always been so excitable?”

“Mhm. Excitable isn’t exactly the word I’d use.”

“Oh?” Peter curled a hand around Chris’s waist and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“If he’s this bad from seeing your biceps, I wonder how much he’ll quiver in bed,” he husked.

To Chris’s credit, the shudder that then ran through his body was slight and controlled.

“I’ve got a show tonight.”

“I thought you weren’t working the stage as much?”

“Only when my husband’s in town.”

Christ cracked an egg, watching it sizzle in the pan.

“You should invite Stiles.”

“Now that’s truly cruel,” Peter laughed.

“It’s for the common good; he gets bored easy.”

“I’m anything but boring.”

“Notice you didn’t refute the easy part, pup.”

“When it's  _ you _ , husband mine, I’m always easy.”

* * *

 

What was he doing?  _ Goddammit, Stiles, pull yourself together, _ he chastised himself.

He'd put Eagle down as an emergency contact when his dad died. He hadn't wanted to burden Scott that way. If the phone call ever came... Chris had stopped him and said he'd take it.

That meant more than Stiles could ever repay. It was the moment they went beyond slightly friendly superior and subordinate. But that didn't give him the right to eat Chris out of house and home!

Yes, they'd offered to have Stiles over for the Holidays. He’d kind of been under the impression he’d be pulling his own weight, though. Having him over then was already a big deal, but that was different. Before his injury, there's plenty he would have been able to do to help out. And now what use was he?

Pining after a man twice his age married to another man he’d been subtly growing attracted to by wit alone. It didn’t help that one persisted in being swarmy, practicing yoga, and wearing low-cut V-necks. Was Peter trying to give Stiles heart failure to go with his bruised ribs and grazed shoulder?  _  Yes, yes he was. _

Fucking Chris, cleaning his guns, casual as you please in goddamn living room.

The living room!

That amount of competency should not be permitted in one space.

“Stiles, breakfast is ready!”

He took a deep breath and plastered on a smile.

Peter plunked down a plate of food in front of Stiles and sat across from him.

“Where’s Chris?”

“He’s getting the Christmas Tree from the porch,” Peter answered.

“Oh, that’s right. Must’ve missed that when I was drugged out of my mind.”

“I wasn’t aware you had much of one to be out of.”

“Ha.” Stiles gave him the five fingered salute.

Peter lifted his hand and replied in kind.

They both sat up a bit straighter when Chris appeared in the doorway.

Two children caught pulling each others hair.

“The Cavemen returns with his offering,” Peter said.

Chris grunted, amused.

“I thought that was pagans.”

Peter clicked his tongue. “You sweet summer child, you know nothing of winter.”

“Hey!” Stiles flailed.

“Hay is for horses.”

“And Hi-gh is for medicine.” Stiles countered.

“Having fun you two?” Chris asked, setting down The Tree.

“It’s a laugh a minute over here.” Stiles stood having finished his food. Peter gave him a reproving glance when he tried to take his plate. The stare down lasted several seconds before Stiles gave in with a sigh.

“Have you gotten the box of lights yet?” Peter called from the Kitchen.

“Do you have some flour?” Stiles called, meandering after him.

“We should, why?”

“Cause we need to make some cookies.”

Chris shrugged and continued hefting The Tree тм into place.

“It’s never the holidays unless there are cookies.”

“Right. We should have enough eggs from breakfast,” Chris said.

“I’ll go get the ornaments down from the attic,” Peter offered, setting the plates on the drying rack.

“I thought you were making cookies,” Chris said with a smile.

Stiles giggled and wiped some flour on Peter’s nose.

The man playfully growled and stalked forward.

“We were,” Stiles admitted, half heartedly dodging Peter’s advance.

Peter boxed him into the corner of the counter and smeared flour on his face.

White streaks of flour marred his black shirt and the Kitchen was littered with powder.

It looked like snow had fallen everywhere. Chris stepped into the war zone.

Stiles gazed up at Peter, seeing the mischief written on the man's face.

They both counted to three, then spun, dousing Chris with flour.

“Gotcha!” Stiles crowed, unprepared for a counter strike.

Suddenly, Chris was hoisting him up and Peter was leaving messy hand prints all over his clothes. He couldn’t stop the shrieks of laughter that erupted from him. He kept twisting and trying to lift his knees against Peter's attempts to tickle him.

“Ow,” he gasped. Peter halted. Chris gently set him down, minding his shoulder.

“Shit that hurts.”

“Stay still,” Peter warned, the words curling around him, far closer to an order than a suggestion.

Stiles glared for show, then rolled his eyes, consenting.

Chris carefully ran his hands over Stiles body, checking the injury. He stooped down to look at Stiles’s knee. Throat suddenly dry, he swallowed, which sprung a coughing fit from all the flour he’d managed to inhale.  _ As if once today wasn’t enough. _

Peter was on him in an instant, keeping him steady. His arm a comforting anchor, heat searing through Stiles.  Chris placed two strong hands on his hips, holding him there.

Both of them were caging him in, making sure he didn’t fall. Supporting his weight. Grounding him. He’d never felt more on fire in his life.

“You okay?” Peter murmured in his ear.

He swallowed and tilted his head to answer, willing his arousal not to show.

Their eyes met. His lips parted to answer or to meet Peter’s, he didn’t know anymore.  

The oven timer dinged.

### 


	7. Give Me A Hooah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The UST only mounts and the author sinks into a state of disbelief over the length the story keeps growing and how the mains won't just KISS ALREADY GODDAMMIT 
> 
> or
> 
> The age old debate Army, Navy, Marines, Airforce? (I love my Coasties won't forget you) *waves nervously at the National Guard*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any mistakes are my own if formatting fubars up or anything please let me know :)
> 
> Oh and as for Stiles injury lets just say I am very much wand waving that and the leave time he'd get yeppers 
> 
> There is a little warning for the chapter scroll to the bottom if you wish to see it.
> 
> (Yes the line repeated from the last chapter is purposeful.)

###  **Chapter Seven: HUA**

###  **Meaning: Phonetic spelling Hooah, often heard at end of Jodie's, meaning Heard Understood Acknowledged, often used as the affirmative or moral booster, if something is pleasing / you have to do some no fun shit.**

* * *

 

“Mmmm smells good.” Stiles dropped the spoon acting reflexively to twist and throw the person behind him into an arm lock.

Which would have really hurt his stitches if Peter hadn’t expertly countered and moved out of the way.

Stiles breathed out a shuddering sigh and let himself go lax in the man's firm grip.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine Chris can be the same way.”

“Yes, he ought to know better than to sneak up on us.” Chris emerged from the doorway.                                                                                                                                     

 There he was reminding Stiles of the situation yesterday and he had to fight not to blush.

Peter let him go and took a step back.

“You Navy super soldiers and your hair-trigger responses.”

“It’s Air Force you ass don’t lump me in with the Squids.”

“Chair Force.” Stiles uttered. Peters grin grew impossibly wider and Chris’s scowl depend.

“What not everyone can be a cushy flyboy like you.”

“You hear that Chris, your cushy.” Peter brushed noses with his husband and gave him a light good morning kiss.

Stiles tried not to stare.

He turned back to the mixing bowl through sheer force of will.

“Diva.” Chris rumbled.

“Yes, Flyboy?”

“Behave.”

“Yes sir,”  Peter replied low and intimate just this side of taunting.

 

Stiles grabbed the spoon tightly with one hand and the counter with the other.

His legs felt like jello and his knee’s threatened to fold.

Stiles cleared his throat. “The dough's ready for the scones I’m going to slice and put them on the tray.” He turned.

Nothing could have prepared him for the sight. To be fair Chris and Peter were already unbelievable.

He’d been trying to ignore the sounds of their kissing but it was a little much face to face.

Stiles  kept catching himself watching the dynamic between them.

The way Chris cupped Peter’s jaw and the other man gave baring his neck.

These were the steps to a dance that had played out numerous times before and would soon again.

Peter licked his lips and placed a playful nip under Chris’s jaw. The man answered with a low rumble.

 

“Do you need any help?” Peter asked Siles. His tongue darting out to lick his kiss bruised lips again.

_ Satan. _

Peter was Satan.

The tilt of his head and beguiling flutter of his lashes did not fool Stiles.

Devil spawn for sure.

“Sure Peter.” He smiled fixedly. “If you could please prepare the melted butter and get the raw sugar that would be great.”

“Since you asked so nicely.” Peter purred. Stiles twitched and sighed.

Chris opened the microwave so they could heat the butter.

Silence fell but for the hum of the machine. Stile unrolled the dough onto the flour with a pin humming as he worked.

“Scooch” Peter's hip checked him.

The man drizzled butter over the triangles in the pan and sprinkled sugar.

 

They both reached for the tray at the same time and Peter swooped it out of his grip then handed it to Chris.

“What was that?”

“Delegation.” Peter sniffed primly.

“Peter can’t stand the heat.” Chris said. 

“Oh.” Stiles placed the dishes in the sink with Peters help. The water turned hot.

“Maybe he should get out of the kitchen.” The v-necked man didn’t offer any witty rejoinder.                                                                                                                             

Steam rose from the sink.

Peter looked pale, he promptly finished drying a plate then left with claims of needing the bathroom.

Stiles set the bowl he was scrubbing down.

“What did I say?” Worry gnawed at him. 

Chris sighed and took a swig of his coffee the way a sailor did rum.

“Nothing you could have known to avoid.”

“Eagle.” Stiles frowned. “If there’s something I need to know.”

“This isn’t a mission gunny.” The man ruffled Stiles shorn hair and he  briefly allowed himself to lean into the touch.

“The parameters and rules haven't been clearly defined." Chris said palm resting comfortingly on the back of Stiles neck. 

"No one blames you for stepping on a few toes not even Peter.”

“So tell me.” Stiles pressed eyes pleading. “I want to be a good-a good guest.” He swallowed.

Chris shook his head smiling softly.

“Peter really doesn’t like fire there was an incident with the family, shook him up good, he still has scars.”

“Not all of them  physical.” Stiles finished.

“Tell you what I'll go see how he is." Chris informed him."  Meanwhile, in a bit, why don’t you ply him with some of the scones and watch a show or two. I have some papers to finish then we can go to the range.” Chris gave the buzzed hair on his head one last pat. 

“Alright?”

“Alright.”  Stiles echoed as Chris walked down the hall. 

Stiles already missed the comforting warmth of his presence. The more he learned about them the further intrusive he felt. Some sort of extra in a detective noir movie.

They never tried to leave him out, in fact, went to great lengths to include him in all things.

From dinner to quiet nights spent reading.

There was still that history they had with each other.

Things he didn’t know piling up.

And the fact that they were married Stiles told himself for the umpteenth time. 

Which made it terribly inappropriate for him to be thinking of the calloused brush of Chris’s hands; or the arch of Peter's lips and how they curved when he was amused.

Stiles reached to adjust himself.

The oven timer dinged.  He pulled the tray out and after a moment of lip biting followed in Chris’s wake.

* * *

 

Shadows danced around the dimly lit room and the curtains were drawn tight over the window. The comforter was piled into the center of the bed.

“Peter love.” Chris called.

The lump of blankets in the bed made a muffled noise.

“Hey, pup.” He murmured to the lump grasping into the pile.

A face shifted up out of the mass and peered at him.

Chris kissed him gently and arranged himself till he was loosely holding Peter.

The light from the doorway was briefly blocked out. There at the entrance to the room lingered Stiles.

Peter gave him a slight nod and Chis gestured for him to enter.

The younger man ghosted in with purpose learned in training.

“Hi,” Stiles whispered clearly not wanting to surround him. He looked nervous and entirely too young with the dark smudges under his eyes in the dim room.

Even his broad shoulder had caved in like a kicked dog a step from bolting.

Peter huffed and reached out tugging Stiles down into the bed. He went with a surprised yelp slender body wrapped in Peter’s grip. He wouldn’t trade these moments for anything.

He went with a surprised yelp slender body wrapped in Peter’s grip. He wouldn’t trade these moments for anything.

“Silly kitten.” Peter poked. Some of his good spirits seemed to have returned.

The day tended to overwhelm his husband and throw things into sharp relief. Occasionally he needed to just step away or in this case bundle away.

“I resent that I’m uh-uh wildcat I’ll have you know.” Stiles wiggled into Peter's' arms.

Chris laughed a low happy noise curling around them.

Yeah maybe they’re not ok, but they will be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stiles Triggers Peter a bit with a comment about fire and not being able to take the heat it is not intentional and Peter forgives him. All people handle their struggles differently please be respectful of how they chose to do so. This is in no way a guideline for how to manage these instances. Thank ye.
> 
>  
> 
> You'll be pleased to know I already started the next chapter!


	8. Alert-5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So you wanna be on top?
> 
> When the UST gets you down leaves you wearing a frown simply think of the fact I'm publishing the next chapter as well today
> 
> or
> 
> in which plot happens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS KEEPS GETTING LONGER WHYYYYY
> 
> Stahp
> 
> Anywho uh don't kill me????
> 
> TW: Nothing major but light description of panic attack I don't thrill and chill us all with heavy detail aka PTSD
> 
> This one is not beta read by anyone but me I apologize for the formatting and let me know if any duplicate sentences rear their ugly heads. I'm currently working on retrieving parts of this and adding some lost things.

###  **Chapter Eight: Alert 5- Used in the *cough* Top Pilot  film you know the one never to be mentioned if you plan to enlist, status of high alert**

 

“Stiles.”

He snapped his head up. “Yes, sir.” He flushed looking up from the Desert Eagle he was cleaning.

Eagle raised his eyebrows smiling.

“Chris.” He corrected after a moment.

  
  


The man set down the M-4 he was working on. Chris had made good on his promise to let Stiles handle the beauty. There was nothing like shooting the M-4 with the hornet's nest adapter equipped.  

They’d gone to the local 30ft small range earlier. Now in the glow of the lit Christmas tree were cleaning their guns. 

 

Peter had taken a seat to Stiles left and had been idly strumming on Guitar. His fingers were deft on the chords sure as flew through each part of the song.

His fingers were deft on the chords sure as flew through each part of the song.

A piano languished in the corner. His hands twitched around the barrel of the gun.

He was tempted to go play a few keys to see what he remembered.

_ Maybe they’d do some playing later?  _ That would be nice.

 

Stiles wondered not for the first time what Peter did for a living.

Eagle maintained a lucrative stream of weapons consultation and sale. Sometimes it meant when he was back in town he immediately had to turn around and go to show or deal.

His husband, however, was a Mystery with a capital M. 

He kept some rather odd hours and often entered the house late at night. Not that any of them slept on a normal schedule anyway. Which lead to a lot of sitting

Not that any of them slept on a normal schedule anyway. Which lead to a lot of sitting

Which lead to a lot of sitting around the counter talking.

 

“Stiles.” Chris reiterated once more drawing his attention.

“What do you remember about the incident with Jackson.”

He set down his gun body trembling. He couldn’t think.

“Are you the lawyer?” He inquired. Cause he may need one after all this.

“I passed my bar.”

“No shit.” Stiles said.  Peter stared. “Wait seriously?” The man gave him an indulgent smile.

“I went through the entire agony of getting my bachelor's well into heading back for my masters when I met this dashing soldier.” Peter set aside the guitar on its stand. He returned to his seat on the coach jovially throwing an arm behind Stile's back.

 

“He charmed the pants off me.”

“Not just your pants.”

“Yes dear, my black black heart too.” He laid a hand on his chest then dropped it.

“So kitten, tell me what's been going on.”

 

Stiles nearly fell forward in surprise. He gripped Peters thigh momentarily to steady himself.

The young man  drew himself up bristling and forced his eyes to raise from the floor.

 

“There's been a lot of reassignment.”

“Yes, I noticed your forwarding address changes quite a bit.” Peter hummed thoughtfully giving Stiles good shoulder a light squeeze.  

“They want me back in a few days.” He admitted.

“Leave doesn’t work that way.” Chris said.

“You’d think but no.” Stiles shook his head.

“Can they even do that?” Peter said.

“It’s the life of high adventure.” He sighed leaning into Peters warmth.

“Join the U.S. Army, see the world, become a target, have the same MOS, pay for school, and serve your country.” He recited.

“Make you family proud.” Stiles laughed the hollow sound echoed about the room.

“Which got you?”

“Does it matter?”

“That’s something else that isn’t sitting right with me the fact they just let you go?”

“Ah, that.” Stiles sagged.

“I know bureaucracy.” Peter began. “Things happened strikingly fast.”

“Almost as if they wanted you gone.” Chris continued conversationally at Stiles right side.

“I-” He faltered breath quickening. “Jackson.” He reached everything felt so narrow.

“Yes, Jackson thought you two didn’t like each other?”

“I wasn’t going to let them kill him even if he’s an idiot.” When had the room gotten smaller?

“Let who?”

Stiles bit his lip brows furrowed in frustration.

“I don’t know!” He yelled the world threatened to spin.

Suddenly Peter was there running hands over his back demanding that he breathe.

Chris was steady by his side.

 

“Count with me, Stiles.”

“One.”

“O-one”

“Very good, you're doing so good.” Chris told him.

He wanted to cry.

“Two.” Peter said.

“T-t-t-wo”

“That's it.” Chris praised.

“Three.” Peter breathed out.

“Three.” Stiles rasped exhaling a large burst of air in time with the other man.

 

He was faintly aware of Peter speaking to Chris and then an Afghan was being draped around him.

Any other instance he’d have felt embarrassed for his episode but he was just so tired.

 

Stiles felt wiped, a doormat that had been tread on by too many shoes. Peter bundled him up in his arms in a reversal of yesterday's roles.

His voice calm and soothing as he talked Stiles through picking a Tv show.

They settled on something, he scarcely cared to remember what.

 

At one point Chris returned with a glass of water pressing it to Stiles' lips.

Carefully, he lifted the glass and helped him drink.  

“Easy, go slow now.” The man cautioned making sure he wouldn’t choke.

The only sure things were Peters presence and Chris’s easy confidence.

 

Christ, he was  a mess.

* * *

 

Chris looked at his resignation letter and sighed. The paperwork had all been filled out nearly ready to his the system.

He picked it up.

 

Staring at the stamp and the clear letters penned on the outside of the envelope.

The paper felt deceptively light in his hands he weight the item in his palms for a moment considering.

He shoved the letter into the drawer.

Chris went back into the living room.

There on the couch, Stiles rested with Peter languishing behind him.

The two of them thick as thieves.

The young man had been through enough already.

It didn’t take much deliberation.

 

“How is he?” Chris said softly.

“Improved.” Peter whispered back.

“Nothing about this is right.”

“You don’t have to tell me.”

 

The young man gave a low whine and shifted in his sleep.

Startled they both stopped talking momentarily transfixed.

 

“I’m going to throw my weight around, see if I can’t get a committee on it.”

“We both know they only way is to pull someone outside.”

“That's why I’m going in.”

“Christopher what if this is related to the incident a few years ago?”

“Then I’ll handle it Peter.”

“Where you go I go.”

“Not this time, not there.”

“I’d like to see you try and stop me, who's the lawyer here?”

“Ex-lawyer.”

“I still keep my credentials up to date.”

“Not exactly an impartial party.”

“Neither are you.”

“He’s a soldier, not a damsel in distress Chris.”

“Don’t tell me you buy that for a minute, Peter. He’s a second lieutenant.”

 

Stiles gave a low moan and stirred, Peter, hushed him with a kindness Chris had only ever seen reflected in a few of their kisses after returning from overseas.

That was after the preliminary claiming marks had been bitten into his skin.

 

“We can’t forget the Whittemore boy perhaps he was the real target here. A disposable officer, of a rank they have falling out their asses yes.” His husband's mind was whirring behind his eyes, making predatory calculations.

“Training, everything costs money, he’s still an investment.

“One someone is  ready to throw away.” Chris gaze drifted to Stiles left shoulder.

“The only question is who, and when can we kill them.” Peter grinned there was nothing nice about it shiver tore over Chris’s spine.

Arousal hot and heavy curled in his stomach even as the hairs on his neck rose.

 

“Your diabolical love.”

“That’s why you married me.”

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH IM SORRY DID YOU THINK PETER WAS NICE? HAHAHAHA SUCKER


	9. Spooky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Chris Creeps In The Doorway Per Usual

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> any mistakes are my own, not too proud of this one I'm sure I've written better but have some smut sorry about spacing or repeating sentences nothing to be done for it

###  **Chapter Nine: Spooky,  birds never take to the sky without one watching their backs**

* * *

 

Stiles woke to warmth. He was hot almost unbearably so.

Peter moved behind him, Stiles ass was flush to his front and if he made it out of this alive it’d be a miracle. A strong arm caged him in and he let out a frustrated noise.

How was he going to get out of this one?

He moved again which only served to press his butt against interested parts of Peters anatomy.  _ Crap. _

 

“Stay.” Peter breathed brushing his ear. 

 

The morning light shining into the room made everything startlingly real.

As if he could he ever leave? Every molecule of his being was encompassed by Peter. The way the melded together like candle wax cooling into one seamless form.

The growing shift of his hips, the fall of his hand that had begun to press down on Stiles skin.

 

“Say no and it stops.” His teeth had started to nip along Stiles' neck. A gasp sounded in the room.  

“No.” Peter let him go.

 

He was surprised to realize the low whine he’d been hearing was coming from him.

 

“No-no don't stop,” Stiles demanded. Peter proceeded to try and make him breathless.

“Chris.” He panted eyes going wide searching for the man in question.

“He’s here.” Peter’s teeth pressed down at the base of his neck licking over a mark there.

Stiles looked wildly around to meet Chris’s sharp eyes.

The man's arms were crossed as he leaned on the frame of the doorway. Of course.

His stare pinned Stiles to the couch as Peter worked him over.

“Satan.” Stiles hissed as Peter's hand teased the edge of his waistband.

“I did warn you,” Chris said striding closer planting his hands on either side of them bracing on the couch.

 

He leaned down and kissed Peter roughly biting his lip.

The position gave Stiles an awesome view of the tongue to teeth action.

 

“S-h-it Peter.” He gasped arching into the man's touch. He had taken the head of Stiles cock into his hand and was teasing the tip rolling it between his fingers.

 

His body trembled as he pressed back against Peter silently begging for more even as his hips jerked into the man's touch.

 

“Would you like that Pup?” Chis addressed Peter looming over Stiles.

 

“Rutting into him like the dog you are.” Peter bared his teeth.

With a vicious snarl he pulled Chris in for another rough kiss.

It made Stiles dizzy with want to watch.

 

“You two are unfair how is this my life?”

 

Both of them pulled apart grinning.

Peter's hair was mussed from where Chris had tugged his head up to meet him.

They shared a look and Chris gripped Stiles jaw his heart stuttered chest heaving.

 

“Be good and stay where I put you.”

“Oh God,” Stiles said losing grasp of anything else but Peter's hands on him.

“Here’s what going to happen, Princess is going to bring you off and your jobs to lay there and take it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“He’s a quick study.” Peter murmured.

“Will I  get to suck your cock?” Stiles asked unabashedly licking his lips.

“Behave and we’ll see,” Chris smirked he didn’t try to play it off as if such a thing would be a reward which further confirmed Stiles had made the right choice.

 

Then he was kissing him and there was no room left for anything else.

Chris licked into his mouth the flat of his tongue pressing and demanding as he plundered Stiles' lips.

Peter sunk his teeth into the flesh of his good shoulder and he moaned desperately.

Chris broke away from him and crouched beside the couch working the fly of jeans open to grip his own straining dick.  _  Hello, soldier. _

He was sculpted everywhere and Stiles had caught himself looking more than once.

_ The strength of his thighs dear god. _

 

“I’ve seen the way you stare at his ass.” Peter purred.

“Maybe later you can fuck him while I work you open.” Chris offered.

“Sounds like a plan.” Stiles thought he did a good job of keeping the shake from his voice.

He felt surrounded and secured. Not to mention achingly ready to come.

 

“Let go for me.” Stiles quit trying to lift his head and sank down into Peter's grasp.

 

He was Icarus every part of his body aflame from their touch.

Stiles came with a surprised gasp. It was as if he’d been parachuting into the open sky.

He was dimly aware of Peter murmuring praises and following suit with a small sigh.

 

“Are we going to talk about this?”

“This what.” Peter trailed a lazy hand over his body tracing patterns with his cum.

Stiles dick valiantly tried to stir again.

“He’s right.” Chis echoed. “We did do this ass-backwards.”

“I’ll say.” Stiles drawled.

“You little tart.” Peter mused.

“Thought I was a kitten? Now I’m a pastry what next?”

“Next you're our's, Sweetheart.”

“Oh.” He hadn’t expected that. “Good to know I’m not just some hot young fancy.”

He felt awful thinking that at all. Chris would never use him like that, they had more than shown they cared.

“Stiles, if we were looking for that we’d have just hit the bar.”

“Ok.” He said ignoring the jump of his heartbeat.

“What my husband is trying to say in his own way is that we like you, Stiles.” Peters'  thumb traced his hipbone.  

 

He shivered under the touch.  Stiles though he had been misreading the signs. Those touches and simple things like picking up a pasta simply because he’d mentioned it being a favorite made more sense now. The hope Stiles had at first been trying to choke out grew anew.

Could he possibly have a place in their life?

 

“Like-like?”

Peter huffed out a laugh.

“Yes, like-like.”

“Great now that we covered that.” Stiles clapped his hands together.

“What?” Laughed Chris.

“You like kink I like kink you both like me.” Stiles shrugged matching Peters smile.

“Sooo.” He drawled. “I believe I was promised I could suck Chris’s dick if I behaved and then maybe a chance to fuck one of you.”

“What makes you think you deserve a reward?”

“Oh boy.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been busy with some personal life things and working on my enlistment stuff so there's that


	10. Chest Candy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All good things have an intermission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive any glaring mistakes. I have been going back and editing all the chapter's - if you re-read the most recent ones from about six on you may notice some differences and little fixes. This was a long time coming, I wanted to get it up before archive goes down briefly tomorrow. I didn't want to force it, I'm still not happy with it but suffice to say this series will carry on. These are my boys. 
> 
> As always I have a huge respect to the U.S. Services most of this fic is true to them, however, not all as it is a fanfic. Please come to me with any questions. (@shudder-dove)
> 
> I have full confidence in the U.S. Army to carry out their mission and no slight is intended. (Go Army)
> 
> To you, the reader, thank you for everything. my writing has grown with this story without you that never would have happend. I would not have kept going. It's been rough and you've been great.

###  **Chapter Ten: Chest Candy, US Military term for the ribbons and medals a soldier has accumulated over the course of his or her term of service**

* * *

 

“You guys weren’t playing around.” Stiles stretched with a pleased grin before settling back against Peter.

“Yes, Navy Strong.” The man muttered from under the blankets. Stiles huffed in amusement still half asleep.

“Army, it’s Army, I’m sure you know that,” Chris muttered. 

“I’m but a simple Diva have pity on me.” Peter drawled tilting his head for a brief kiss.

At the bedside table, the phone vibrated.  


Chris sighed and turned over to pick it up. He gripped the device and frowned climbing out of bed.“Hello? Yes, speaking.”

Peter knew how shock looked on his husbands face. Chris’s eyes would narrow and he’d pause for a few seconds then spring into action. 

“Who is it dear?” Peter sat up taking a moment to dislodge Stiles from his chest. 

 

The brunet curled tight around a nearby pillow blinking blearily. Chris looked over at their young companion.  _ Ah, this was about Stiles then. _ They’d both grown inordinately fond of him in such a short amount of time. Yet if Peter thought about it nothing had been fast about their courtship. Months of trading letters and barbs building up to their eventual meeting. 

 

“It’s alright kitten go back to sleep.” Peter pressed a kiss to a mole on a pale shoulder where the blanket had ridden down. “I’m going to get started on breakfast.” 

Stiles hummed and affirmative and sank further into the pillows.

Peter slipped out of bed and after Chris down the hall. 

 

“An MP was on the line..” Military Police his brain supplied fitting the acronym to the word. 

_ The Army and their lingo.  _

“Oh?” Peter answered placing a hand on Chris’s arm. 

“He had questions about  _ her  _  whereabouts.” Chris avoided addressing the woman in question by name. They both knew who he meant. 

_ Kate.   _ If there was one thing he had to thank the blonde for it was driving Chris and him closer together. Sure his husband and he hadn’t exactly been able to stand each other at first. Nothing like a common goal or in this case enemy. Chris had played at being so controlled them, just beneath the surface a creature of impulse and fiery temper. They’d run circles around each other. Peter delighted to find someone who could remotely keep up and make things interesting. And Chris, sweet repressed Chris who hadn’t understood just why Peter set his blood boiling or twisted him into a tizzy so easily. It was eventually Chris, his brave who’d made the first move. Who had in spite of his family's warnings sought the truth with every breath and in turn sought Peter. Who loved him to this day.  


 

“She escaped then?” Peter headed towards the coffee maker. 

“Yes in transport she got the sentence lightened and negotiated to be moved. Good behavior.”

“So she cut a plea deal.” He summarized. 

 

Something that was never supposed to happen. Of course, he had been working under a time crunch and admittedly more arrogant in his youth. _ In these last few years of silence had he grown too lax? _ No, like clock work Chris at least had called in to check on her. He still had a few friends in the legal waters.  _ A shark never stopped swimming.  _ Chris was his and no one, not even his sister and her schemes would steal him away. 

 

“Most likely for the other members of the terrorist organization.” Christ eventually said. 

“Which is working out so well for them now that she’s missing and somehow if I’m inferring correctly once more overseas.” 

“It’s a government run operation pup, not a you run operation.”  


“Clearly,” Peter smirked passing Chris a mug. They both stood in the Kitchen staring out the window over the sink. This woman who’d hurt so many and tried to destroy them once before was on the loose. Stiles may have been in the right place at the wrong time but now someone was trying to cover it up. That someone would pay.  Outside a storm was gathering, great clouds rolling in ready to dispute a mass of swirling white flakes. Shoulders touching and deep in contemplation they didn’t move for a long time. 

Stiles approached footsteps light on the tile and vibrating noise where only soft silence had rested previously. 

 

“Good morning.” He pressed a kiss to both their cheeks, seized the mug from Chris’s hands and danced into the living room both men hot on his heels. All of them paused before the Christmas tree watching the lights wink softly from the green branches. 

 

“As picturesque as the day we met,” Peter stated taking in the decorations. Stiles had truly worked wonders with the display.

“You seem to be suffering from slightly faulty memory husband mine.” Chris mused.

“I’ve heard that happens with age.” Stiles grinned quickly hiding behind the other military man. 

“ I am the finest of wines I’ve only gotten better as it were..” 

“Mhm. You're special that’s what you are.” 

“Brute,” Peter said.

“Diva.” Chris echoed love turning the taught into something soft. 

“Okay, but how did you guys meet really?” Stiles prompted from over Chris’s shoulder. 

“It was his chest candy.” Peter leered.

“So you do know the military lingo!” Stiles exclaimed. “I knew it this entire time with the whole Army, Navy thing.” He gestured hands spasming as he tried to articulate. 

“Blame Chris it started with him, the tips of his ears would flush and he’d get so hot on the color. It’s tradition now.”

“you're utterly ridiculous.” His husband informed him.

“Yes but you both love me.”

“That we do, that we do.” 

Was there any way to answer that except with a kiss?

Peter stepped into his partner's embrace and their lips met. The practice of years leaving them both sure but no less passionate. The fit together the way they always had and any of the lingering cold deserted him.  Stiles for his part was giggling madly even as Chris pulled away to throw him into a fireman's carry. Peter laughed following leisurely in their wake. 

Eventually, the outside world would catch up to them. Leaving the house and its comforting walls for the heat and cold of the desert was inevitable.

_Everything returning to how it began_. Except this time it wasn’t just two hot-headed young men chasing smoke. They had something more to protect, each other and something equally precious. 

 

Chest Candy he’d told Stiles. It had been far less of a joke than either of them had assumed. He remembered that day when a striking man with a poisonous last name had dared him to dream. The word Argent in dark black stitched over his heart one that Peter would soon find himself holding just as tightly. 

 

For now, though, it was Christmas Eve and Peter was willing to suspend his belief in favor of the magic happening here. 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How would you lot feel about a Prequel? The epic story of how Peter & Chris met A Sequel? 
> 
> Okay about the ending it's cheesy I may re-write okay I will but full circle this started with Peter and Chris Yes Stiles is a part of this but I wanted a story that simply built on the love and in no way did any party over shadow the other. I just have feelings okay what's a guy to do but write more fic. THEY LOVE EACH OTHER AIGHT MATE
> 
> Uhhh hit me up at @shudder-dove

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: @shudder-dove


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